A Game of Chess
by Tasia
Summary: She pulled in her lips, mind wrapped in concentration, frantic, hazel eyes meandering across the black-and-white board where her king met his queen. Chess was supposed to be relaxing, not set the bones in her teeth to rattle or stew the blood beneath her skin. Royai.
1. That Stupid App

A/N: Thank you for the chess prompt, Incognito4713! Got the gears in my head going with this one!

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**Day 1: That Stupid App**

Not only was Riza Hawkeye backed into a corner, she knew she had no way out. She pulled in her lips, mind wrapped in concentration, frantic, hazel eyes meandering across the black-and-white board where her king met _his_ queen. Chess was supposed to be relaxing, not set the bones in her teeth to rattle or stew the blood beneath her skin.

Riza considered again, over and over. The details. The careful placement of her white pawns. Then she crossed an analyzing gaze once more, unable to comprehend how a stranger – _online_ – could unsettle her in her own game. She found a dead pixel on her phone.

"This is not relaxing at all!" Riza snarled, hurling the device across the tinted limousine. She was on the way to the presidential debate in support of her grandfather. Against Roy Mustang. That smart mouth womanizer. This was such a terrible time to lose composure.

"Riza, we're here. You need to calm down," Rebecca soothed from beside her, running lazy strokes up and down her back. Tucking her curly brown hair behind her ear, Rebecca bent down to pick up her phone, proffering it to Riza.

"Thanks," Riza nodded, moist palm climbing up to her hair, fixing the loose blonde strands. "Let's go."

As she stepped out of the car, flashes of bright light called to her on the right. Turning her head, she found Roy Mustang among the throng of journalists and media personnel. Slicked dark hair sharpened his smooth chin, a disarming smile hardening the well-defined line of his jaw as he waved a hand towards the rambunctious crowd. Roy Mustang was handsome, and he _knew _it, playing up this strength into the precarious ladder of political affair. And at thirty-two, with an appealing, athletic frame, he seemed more a celebrity rather than a presidential candidate.

He climbed up the step one at a time, graceful and poised, even with his cellphone in his hands. He was typing something, a mischievous little grin teasing his mouth. He must be texting one of his women. That poor girl didn't know what she was getting herself into.

"Your phone's blinking," Rebecca leaned in, whispering into her ear. "I think you got a message from your opponent."

_RideThisHorse85 to Birdy1989: Gg. Beat your 97-winning streak. _;)

If Riza had super strength, the phone in her hand would crease and crumple like a sheet of paper. Instead, she drew in a deep breath, shushing the rising pulse beneath her neck. _Calm down. Breathe._ She tucked her phone into her purse.

"Elizabeth," Mustang greeted her from atop the polished marble landing. "You look beautiful tonight."

"Why thank you, Mr. Mustang," she replied, her voice strong and smooth, belying the hint of self-consciousness that began to creep into her skin as his gaze roved over her.

Mustang offered his arm, steadying a warm, gentle smile when she caught his gaze, "Shall we?"

"Lead the way," she nodded, looping her arm around his, forgetting for a second about her opponent beyond the screen for the sudden, unexpected thrum beneath her chest.

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A/N: Thank you for reading! :)


	2. The Debate

A/N: I like this universe and I can't stop, so you may expect 500 words per day from me until then :P

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**Day 2: The Debate**

"Senator Mustang, you have called for a big new government benefit, such as free college-"

Her gaze snapped to the calm, confident man standing behind the podium. His chin was tilted up and his shoulders pulled back, like a king peering down at his subjects, though the constant smile on his face kept him a congenial company.

"-how will you achieve this, Senator?"

A slight twitch tugged the corner of his lips, and Riza would have missed it if she hadn't been sitting so close to the stage. Then he smirked. That stupid,_ attractive_ smirk. And Riza felt as if she'd betrayed her grandfather for _enjoying _the way it captured her eyes and wouldn't let them leave.

"That's right. Education is the future for our country, and I believe free tuition should apply to all public colleges and universities, including eliminating student debt. My proposal places a new tax policy on Wall Street. Let the big corporations pay and give our citizens the tools they need to succeed. After all, it is the ordinary middle-class that built this country, not Wall Street."

The host spun on his heels and turned to the older gentleman, who pushed his round-rimmed bifocal atop the bridge of his thick nose. "Your thoughts, Secretary Grumman?"

"I agree with Roy here that making education available to all is important, but we will come across issues with Wall Street paying this additional tax. We've known for years they're the best at finding loopholes and avoiding millions of dollars in taxes. In my opinion, it would be best to revise the federal student aid policy, which I outlined in my proposal," her grandfather said.

He was calm. He was smooth. A solid answer. Still, her breath had caught, and her throat was as parched as the desert from the billowing tension of the debate. Carefully, Riza reached for the bottle water underneath her seat, taking small, quiet sips before squeezing the plastic for comfort.

"Oh, and I've spoken at length about this," Grumman continued, "with my peers, the board of education, and even my family. My granddaughter, who is in the audience, is a reputable university professor. She provided great insights."

"Senator?" the host turned to Roy.

"I recall speaking with your granddaughter about education," Mustang began, chuckling, "and Miss Hawkeye gave _my_ policy her stamp of approval."

A cold shudder shot up her spine, raising dots across her arms, and her mind immediately scrambled for that one instance in which she recklessly endorsed the opposition. Nervously, Riza lifted the bottle to her lips, wishing it would wash down the jitters, praying Mustang had concocted a lie. She wouldn't know how to deal with the media if it had been true.

"Secretary Grumman, any comments?"

Grumman simply laughed, an amused twinkle to his grey eyes that betrayed the anger he must have felt. Roy's answer had plucked the words out of his mouth, and Riza knew precisely in that moment that her grandfather had lost this round.

"And if you decide to support my policy," Roy continued, twisting his seductive smile into a wicked grin, "Miss Hawkeye and I will make sure _our_ future children know to thank their great grandfather for the free education."

Water sprayed out of her mouth. Beside her, Rebecca quickly turned, drawing perplexed brows above dark, wide eyes, her painted lips poised with a question, "Riza, are you dating the Senator?"


	3. The Dinner After

A/N: flourchildwrites, thank you for coming up with Alex Armstrong's awesome screen name. It made me laugh!

Raksha: Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you're enjoying the story :)

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**Day 3: The Dinner After**

Now _this_ was relaxing.

A tiny smile clung to her lips, and with her head tilted down, her long, golden fringe shielded her vision from the surrounding merrymaking. It was only between her and her favorite pastime. Riza Hawkeye and chess. _Birdy198_9 against _SparklesMcMusclesMan_. And from the way her opponent took their time, chipping away at the minutes, it seemed Riza was back in the game.

As she waited for their move, her gaze flicked to the top of her screen. No new message from _RideThisHorse85_. In a fit of rage, Riza had asked for a rematch, her thumb swiping quickly, coloring the word in all caps, bold, italic, underline. And she was certain she would win the second time around...

Though it was probably best he had taken his time to reply, Riza supposed. Had he replied then, Riza would have flung a string of curses at the user for snatching her victory. _You ready to uninstall, motherfucker? _she would have typed. After all, three more for a total of one hundred consecutive wins would have unlocked her another trophy: "Genetically Superior."

So close. _So. Damn. Close_.

"What's a pretty lady doing here all by herself?"

She looked up.

Roy Mustang.

And delight bolted from her expression as soon as hazel eyes locked with onyx.

"Why did you say what you said at the debate?" Riza growled, dismissing her game, narrowing her gaze at the handsome senator. "You're starting a rumor."

"I was only speaking the truth," Roy shrugged, his nonchalant tone burying any signs of remorse.

"We're not even dating," she hissed, a clenched fist marching down her hip.

"We _could_ be dating," he grinned cheekily. And the high heels of her pumps suddenly felt flimsy, her legs beneath her pooling into a puddle. "Besides, we've gone on dates," Roy added.

"Those were _business dinners_," Riza insisted. "You wanted me to look over your proposals."

"I seem to recall someone enjoying her dinner date."

Sighing, she corrected, "Dinner. Not dinner _date_."

"You had a little too much wine that night-" Roy began, the smuggest smile drifting across his lips.

Unamused, she crossed her arms below her breasts, clutching her phone in one hand, squeezing it. Hard.

"-and then you complimented my suit-" Roy went on, sticking his face nearer hers, slowly.

Riza scoffed, mirthless eyes rolling to the side. Though a teeny tiny part of her was aware of the small jogs in the pulse beneath her ear.

Roy leaned in, closer. And closer. "-you twirled my tie in your hand-"

And a strange, niggling remembrance suddenly seeped into her mind, weaving in laces of fear and suspense, ruffling her senses. Wait-

"-and then you moved to sit next to me on the booth-"

Out of nowhere, patches of memories from that night came in a torrent. Moments of quiet conversations. The imprint of rouged lips on a half-filled wine glass. The solace of soft skin against another. The hot vapor on the whorl of her ear. And a searing ki- And in her full recollection, Riza gasped loudly, a bewildered hand flinging to her mouth.

"-and then you and me, we ki-" Roy whispered, his cheek against hers, a racing heartbeat underneath the commotion in her head.

"STOP!" Riza cut in abruptly, the realization settling in, her panic wafting off in droves. "Don't continue that sentence!"

Roy pulled back, surprised, his face scrunched up in disappointment. But as Riza confronted him, glaring, the devious glint in his eyes flaunted anything but disappointment.

And just like that, it was another victory for Roy Mustang tonight.

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A/N: Thank you for reading!


	4. Inner Turmoil

A/N: Each chapter just seems to get longer, and longer...

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**Day 4: Inner Turmoil**

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

He was despicable. He was repulsive. _A cunning bastard_. And the act of banging his head onto a solid wooden desk had not arranged his thoughts into order nor rid the petulance in his chest.

_Thud. Thud._

A faint creak resounded, and immediately his fingers roamed the sticky bangs on his forehead, brushing quickly, concentrated eyes fixed on a piece of paper to mold the sculpture of a hardworking politician. Roy Mustang lifted an anticipating gaze as his chief strategist, Heymans Breda, stepped into the threshold of his office, a stack of reports under his arm.

"Got the latest poll results here, sir," the portly redhead began.

With his elbows propped up on his desk, Roy nodded.

"Senator Mustang has forty-one percent of the support of the party, while Secretary Grumman is leading at fifty-nine percent. Congresswoman Olivier Armstrong, who has dropped out of the race last month, voiced her support for Secretary Grumman saying, and I quote-" Breda looked up at him briefly, gauging his stony reaction before reading on, "'I stick by what I said in the past. Mustang is far too young, too unattached, and too inexperienced to lead this country.'"

Roy paused mid-breath, running a swift hand through his thick, silky locks. It was no secret the Congresswoman hated him. Armstrong's relentless condemnation had built a wall in his path, keeping him away from ever reaching the front of the race, and in his grand plan, Riza Hawkeye was supposed to help alleviate these issues.

But all Roy could think about was the way Riza's eyes had flared with distress at the thought of kissing him, and the sharp intakes of breath that held and flustered the lovely woman. Riza Hawkeye was kind and honest, and Roy Mustang had _tricked_ her. Since then the weight beneath his ribcage had swollen, a little at a time, trapping the air in his lungs until he became sick with remorse and dizzy with despair.

"But your number has improved by eight percent since the last debate," Breda added when all the man met was a series of prolonged silence. "At this rate, you will be the primary candidate. We just need to stick to our plan."

"I won't go through with it," Roy finally spoke, his tone decisive.

"Sir?"

"Our plan. It makes me feel… _slimy_."

"Most politicians are slimy, sir. Grumman _is_ slimy."

"I can't do this to her," Mustang shook his head, filling the space in between with an air of desperation. "She's an innocent party in all this. She helped me with my proposals."

"Grumman didn't give two-shits about Aunt Chris, remember? He played dirty."

"No, I know that, but Riza was my _friend_-" Roy pleaded.

"In _junior high_," Breda horned in, harsh and abrupt, in an attempt to inject some sense into his muddled brain. "That was a long time ago, sir. And you won't have to attach yourself to her forever. Only until her granddad drops out of the race."

"I don't want to go through with this," the Senator insisted, rejecting his words.

"Riza will improve your image. Attaching yourself to one woman means you are committed, and that you are not the womanizer everyone claims you are. And she's his beloved grandchild. Hit two birds with one stone."

"But I didn't think I would feel this terrible," Mustang confessed. "When I saw her again after so many years-"

"You were surprised she got curvier and prettier, I know, sir," Heymans intoned. "And that she's intelligent and confident and insightful. Your words, not mine."

"Yes-"

"And you have feelings for her."

"Ye- No!" Dark eyes bulged as a realization dawned. "I don't have feelings for her!" Roy stressed.

"If you say so, sir," his aide snickered.

A knock on the door disturbed the excitement, and a tall, slender woman entered. The cascade of her hair burned with the gold of the sun, and the length of her creamy legs was paraded by the high cut of her black skirt. Riza Hawkeye approached, wielding an arresting smile, and Roy's breath caught in his throat.

"Roy, we need to talk."

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A/N: Hope you liked that!


	5. The Twisted Truth

A/N: Writing daily is extremely hard, but writing short chapters is just as tough, especially when my average words per chapter tends to be 3k+. I'm learning a lot with this fic.

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**Day 5: The Twisted Truth**

The moment Heymans Breda clicked the door to the Senator's office, her warm smiles and polite greetings turned into a sour scowl. Riza Hawkeye stormed a path to the restless politician behind the desk, who quickly sprang up in response, and drove her index finger into his shoulder, hard and rough.

"That's strike three, mister! I told you I don't want to be involved!" Riza barked.

Resting his hands on her hips, Roy moaned, "But baby-"

"Don't baby me, Roy. You announced to the world that I _agreed_ with your policy, and then you as good as told them that we're _together_, and then you teased me at dinner when everyone was _clearly_ watching. You know I can't kiss you in public! Don't you know how frustrating that is? It was a good thing I have self control!"

The tide of betrayal rose with her glare, and the apparent rage in her voice stung him more than a slap. All Roy could do to lessen the blow was draw her in with gentle arms and hide his face in the soft of her hair. "I'm sorry, Riza. I'm _really_ sorry," he mumbled.

Gradually, Roy felt the strain on her muscles dwindling, and his girlfriend curled into his embrace.

When the measure of her breath evened out, Riza muttered, "You went along with Heymans' plan even when I said not to, and now the media's talking about us. Why?"

"The old man brought you up first. That was the only way I could rebuke," Roy reasoned, and he felt Riza loosening their hold ever so slowly.

"And I gave him an earful for pulling that shit. His answer was completely fine without having to involve _me_. I'm supporting from the sideline, you and him both. And _you_ shouldn't have followed in his example."

The finality of her tone spared no room for his rationale, and Roy sighed and touched his forehead with hers in pursuit of forgiveness. "I admit I was getting desperate. And it didn't help that your granddad cheated my aunt out of their deal to get Armstrong to drop her campaign. I might have been overly emotional that night."

At this, Riza brought a tender hand to his cheek, tracing warm circles with her thumb. "I know, Roy. But when I said I don't want to be caught in the middle of this political bullshit, I _really_ do mean it. I had reporters swarming my front yard this morning, I had to sneak out of my own house."

Roy pressed his lips to the crown of her head. "I'm sorry. I can clear it up with the media today. I'll contact Sheska from Central Times and have her publish it first thing in the morning. How's that?"

Her gaze considered him for a second before replying, "And have the world think you're still bouncing around between women? I don't know. I kind of liked the fact that you're taken. And by me no less. It keeps those bitches away."

"You are so catty, Miss Hawkeye," Roy laughed. "And I love you for it."

"Although I feel kind of bad for granddad. It's not going to be good for his health the longer this keeps up," she chuckled.

"I take it you haven't told him we're together?"

"You want me to kill the old man, is that it?"

"If it will make me primary, maybe," Roy quipped.

"And no one in your staff knows about us?"

"None. Although Breda made a very interesting comment earlier…" Roy trailed.

"He's a smart man, and very keen. He's probably suspecting something," Riza cautioned, moving her thumb to dawdle on the delicate skin under his eye. "And I really should stop dropping by your place at ungodly hours. You need your sleep."

"I traveled around for half a year, and now that I'm finally home I don't even get to see you?" he pouted.

She chuckled before kissing him fully on the lips. "Only until one of you becomes president. Then we can see each other whenever, wherever."

"Ah, and speaking of seeing each other..." Roy swallowed, leaning in to press another kiss when trepidation threatened to burst forth. "Dinner at my house tonight? I'll leave the back door unlocked."

"Were you not listening to anything I just said?"

"Last one. I promise. To make up for everything I did wrong in the past week," Roy begged, flying a quick glance to the bottom drawer of his desk. He couldn't back down now. This had been sitting in the back of his mind for far too long. "Please?"

"Alright," Riza relented and smiled. "Last one."

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A/N: Thank you for reading!

P.S. I'm having too much fun with this story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it.


	6. The One

A/N: One or two more chapters and this fic should be complete, though there will be no posting tomorrow because it's my birthday :P

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**Day 6: The One**

Heavy rains began in the early morning and gobbled up the entire city through the afternoon, herding pedestrians into a collection of skyscrapers along Eastern Boulevard while others braved on home under the convenient refuge of their trench coats and leather briefcases. Chris Mustang had arrived fifteen minutes before the promised time and, beneath the crown of her deep blue umbrella and black wide-brimmed hat, kept her vision floating between the corner of One Culver Tower and the dark service alley beside it.

The black silhouette of a man emerged from behind a stream of car headlights, back bowed in the chill wind, and set a hurried pace towards her. The Secretary came laden with an overcoat and a trilby hat that hung low over his bifocal. He made use of the extra roll of newspaper in his hand to wipe excess droplets from the bench hidden in the verdure of Central Park.

When he took his seat beside her, Chris Mustang wasted no time to ask, "You have what I want."

George Grumman kept his silence for a moment and arranged the newspaper to hide his appearance from the waist up. They found comfort in their distance apart, a gentleman and a lady on the opposite end of the bench, two strangers minding their own business. When she slipped a hand into the leather clutch on her lap, the Secretary soon replied in a low yet sprightly voice, "Now, now. I'm sure we can settle this another way."

Chris remained still as a porcelain doll, her hand inside her small purse. "Olivier is out of the race. I'm here to collect on my payment."

"And I told you that you can ask for anything you want. Except _that_," His resistance was clear in the space between them.

"That's the only thing I want."

"Why would you want it anyway?" Grumman asked, his irritation surging in the sudden crumple of the newspaper held between his fingers. "It is of no use to _you_."

"It is of use to him," she insisted, keeping her tone measured.

"That means you get no payment."

"I want nothing else." And she dared flick a glance in his direction, attempting to carve his profile underneath the hulking shadows of magnolia trees. What she discovered was a set of tight lips and narrow eyes, burning a hole into the center of the daily publication as clenched jaw clicked above taut shoulders.

"If I give _it_ to you, I will lose two of my most precious things. I'm not ready for that," he hissed.

She merely chuckled at his obvious distress, "Then you shouldn't have struck a bargain with me in the first place."

The quiet bridge between them hummed with nature before the politician blew a loud puff of air, his shoulders sinking and neck rolling forward, as if allowing defeat to finally settle around him. He lowered the paper shield to rest across his thighs and turned to her. "Does he know that I know?"

"No. He thinks you cheated me out of my money," she revealed. "And she doesn't know that you know either."

"I suppose I should have seen this coming. The moment she smiled when she saw him again after all these years..."

"And the moment he laid eyes on her from across the room, I knew."

"It's time, I suppose," he sighed. "And I _am_ getting old."

"You _are_ old."

"Fine, you can have them both," he acquiesced, trading scorn for a hint of mirth in the soft flicker of his grey eyes. "But promise me that he will take good care of them both."

"I promise," Chris nodded, sliding a gaze full of gratitude when the politician produced a small velvet box in the palm of his hand.

Gently, Grumman lifted the lid, and a deep green, round emerald caught the gathering light from the street lamps above. It was beautiful on Tereza Hawkeye's finger and her mother's before her, and Chris knew it would be beautiful on his granddaughter's finger. Her nephew would be overjoyed, and her heart warmed despite the sudden roaring wind that snuck itself underneath her thick rainproof coat.

The Secretary slipped the box into her hand and clasped his over hers. He smiled. "I know she will love it. She did as a child."

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A/N: Thank you for reading!


	7. Checkmate

A/N: And I'm back!

Guest review: Thank you for your comments, Raksha!

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**Day 7: Checkmate**

_RideThisHorse85: Checkmate._

Her eyes leapt between the black queen and the white king, the jolt of incredulity clinging to her parted mouth. No. Just no. There was absolutely. No. Way. This loss was not what she had predicted. And it was the perfect play! Her thumbs flew back and forth furiously, turning her frustration into words.

_Birdy1989: Did you cheat?! Are you a fucking bot?!_

The screen lit up.

_RideThisHorse85: Nope. Sorry, Birdy. You're just not as good as me :). Peace!_

A strip of anger climbed up her throat and out of her mouth, and Riza growled into the empty darkness of Roy's manicured backyard. She crossed the dewy grass towards the brightly lit french doors, hastily, the pleated curtain behind the glass drawn to one side as his code for her to enter. As she swung it open, Roy surprised her from her left, a glass of red wine in his hand.

"Riza, you're here!" he exclaimed with the widest grin she'd seen on him yet.

"You look very happy today," she remarked, taking the glass from his hand when it was offered to her. "I wish my day was half as good as yours."

"It is a wonderful day," Roy smiled, warm and inviting, and the frown that had followed her from across the backyard began to dissipate. "And it could still get better," he continued. "For both of us. Hopefully."

She brought the wine to her lips and sipped. "Oh really?"

Her boyfriend nodded and took her hand, leading her into the kitchen, their fingers intertwined. His were awfully clammy.

Abruptly, he asked, "Are you hungry?"

She paused in consideration. "I'm not super hung-"

"No? Okay, good," Roy cut in, a streak of nervousness sailing across his face before he began to speak in short spurts, "To tell you the truth, I don't think I can wait until after dinner- I won't enjoy my food because I'd be too nervous- And I really would like to just-"

"Roy," she called, meeting a pair of uneasy eyes. She squeezed his hand and carried on a pleasant chuckle. "Slow down, Roy."

"Riza…" He lifted her hands and held them against his chest. The quick shuffle of his heart was palpable beneath her palms, and she felt sweat rapidly building at the close contact with her skin.

He trailed, "You're beautiful. You're funny. Smart. And I don't know what I would do without you. I love you. So much. And- and you're the most amazing woman-"

"More amazing than the woman who birthed you?" she attempted to jest, ruffled by his disquiet. It sounded too much like a propos-

His hand suddenly dropped hers and dipped into the depth of his jacket pocket. "You are," Roy affirmed. And little shivers crept up her arms when he presented a small velvet box. "And you would make me the luckiest man in the world-" He opened it, and the quick thrums in her neck grew louder and belted an aria in her ears. "-if you say yes."

All Riza could do was gasp.

"Marry me?" Roy asked, a coil of nervousness and delight rolling into an endearing smile.

Her speech straddled between her tongue and teeth, and all Riza could accomplish was a tiny squeal that accompanied her bouncing feet and restless hands. She squealed again, unbidden, and sorted herself into order by clearing her throat, "Sorry about that."

"Um, is that-?" Roy looked on, a tinge of worry coloring his voice. "-is that a yes?"

And the room was a constellation of brilliant lights around his handsome, dark features when she eventually regained control. Riza nodded, seeing the drab of fear in the corner of her boyfriend's eye disappearing into dust at her gesture. "Yes!" she voiced aloud, the fire beneath her breasts burning and promptly spreading. Then she screamed her answer again when her restraints seemed to have slipped infinitesimally, "YES!"

"YES!" Roy repeated, as if saying the word would declare it official, and proceeded to slip the ring on her finger.

He lifted her by the waist and spun her around, one hand soaring up her back to rest at the nape. He kissed her. Fiercely. Adoringly. And it became the mingling of feverish breaths, mouths drifting across reddened lips and skins that grew hotter as he pressed her back against the kitchen wall. She panted and sighed as the need for air arose, and tapped him on the shoulder. Roy understood and lowered her gently, her toes wriggling at the cool sensation of the wooden floor.

Riza laughed, admiring the glow of emerald against fair skin. "They know, huh? This was _her_ ring."

He nodded and returned her glee. "Are you going to tell Rebecca?"

And it was as if he had proposed all over again, flaring excitement and dampening nothing. "Yes!" Riza cried and quickly lunged at the flashing device on the kitchen counter, gliding her thumb up and coming across a black-and-white background on her screen.

It looked strangely familiar.

She froze.

This was not her phone.

"Are you texting her?" Roy asked, hovering over her shoulder when she remained mute.

"Roy?" Riza croaked, "Are you... Are you _RideThisHorse85_?"

Nonchalantly, her fiancé replied, "Oh yeah, that's me. I play chess on that app from time to time."

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A/N: Thanks for reading :D


	8. Mr President

A/N: And this is the last chapter! It's a bit longer than usual, that's why it's taking an extra day to finish. Hope you enjoy!

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**Day 8: Mr. President**

The basilica's white marble pillars soared to the sky, wrapping around the nave before bowing at the chancel where the groom and bride stood in front of an audience of one thousand. The full black regalia deepened his sharp features, and laces of ivory and silk softened his fair lady. Together, they repeated after the officiant, her hands held in his, and shared small, bashful smiles that ended with the collection of tears in the corner of their eyes.

"I do," his bride replied. And the groom's smile grew wider under a restive gaze.

The round-bellied priest looked at the man, and then his wife. And in his clerical robe, he opened his arms and announced to the world, "By the power vested in me I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. President, you may kiss your bride!"

The congregation rose, and a rumble of claps and cheers billowed out, spiraling up the highest tower as soon as their lips met. In the front pew the Secretary of State and the President's adoptive mother drew each other into a long hug, patting their backs and sharing whispers of good tidings. Outside, the gathering crowd heard and erupted just the same, joining in the camaraderie.

The country had waited six months for their First Lady, and now she was here. Elizabeth Mustang matched her husband in beauty and charm, though with a flair of her own, and Amestris could not wait to welcome her into its embrace.

A long line of red carpet assembled the bountiful recession and led it towards the entrance of the basilica. The bride's tulle train tracked the polished floor, adorned with rose petals and hand-sewn pearls, and behind it, the wedding party tailed the celebrating couple. There were rumors that the First Lady had voiced against her fifty pound dress and the massive list of important guests, but her grandfather was not an easy man to sway.

Eventually, the newlyweds surged through the double doors, trading Mendelssohn's Wedding March for the big applause of their loyal spectators who had been daring the heat of the summer sun. President Mustang waved at the crowd and tossed a fat, happy grin before moving to scoop up his wife into his arms. Surprised, Mrs. Mustang let out a squeak, flinging her hands around her husband's neck. As he bent down to kiss her, peppering his lips over her smooth, painted face, the First Lady broke into a pleasant laughter and returned his affection.

Before long, their security personnel ushered them into the limousine wreathed in flowers and ribbons, and the new couple exited the scene.

"And that is the end of the ceremony, ladies and gentlemen, as the recently inaugurated President Mustang and the First Lady head to their private, outdoor reception in Rolling Hills," Maria Ross informed. The reporter spoke to the camera, curling on an excited smile.

Beside her, Denny Brosh beamed, "We're going to speak with a few of their special guests! The first one to grace us is Rebecca Catalina, the First Lady's maid of honor. Miss Catalina, what would you like to share with us?"

The maid of honor was draped in lavender chiffon, the neat bun of her hair coiled to one side. Her mascara was dark and thick, her lashes fluttering as she spoke, "Denny, I am so happy for my friend Riza! She's a beautiful person inside and out, and she deserves the very best! Of course I would prefer it if she'd married a prince, but I suppose the president of our country will do."

Denny laughed, but Rebecca kept on her solemn expression. "I'm serious," she added.

"O-kay, and next we have the best man, Maes Hughes. Maria, I'm handing over the torch to you."

The screen switched to a bespectacled man, his spiky hair flailing up and out. The reporter asked, "Mr. Hughes, do you have anything you'd like to say to the viewers this morning?"

"All I can say is I can't wait to show Roy and Riza photos of their godchild! My darling daughter is with her beautiful mother at home right now, and I am so heartbroken that they couldn't make it. I am hoping-" Mr. Hughes crossed his fingers, "-that the newly weds will make babies soon so my precious Elicia can have someone to play with!"

"Thank you, Mr. Hughes," Maria chuckled and sidestepped to her right, sidling up to the President's beloved aunt and adoptive mother. "Miss Mustang, congratulations on your nephew's wedding! What do you think of your new daughter-in-law?"

"Thank you, Maria. Riza is wonderful. She is smart and beautiful, and I'm glad Roy found someone who will take care of him forever," Chris Mustang remarked, a little impish smile tugging the edge of her lips. The older woman faced the audience. "I wish her all the luck."

Maria carried on an uncertain smile and confronted the camera once again. "Alright Denny. Back to you."

"The last one we have is Secretary Grumman, the First Lady's grandfather. Mr. Secretary, any words about this special occasion?"

The grey politician rolled on a cackle, "Yes! Congratulations to my beloved granddaughter and her new hus-" And the television turned black.

Floor-to-ceiling glass lined the entire perimeter, and the spacious contemporary home that housed the hardened congresswoman began pulsing with anger. Roy Mustang was one lucky son of a bitch, and while Olivier Armstrong was certain that he had always wanted to marry his wife, the analytical part of her brain wondered if they all had fallen under the intricate plan of the old codger.

Riza Hawkeye was not one for an ostentatious event, and while Roy Mustang basked under the spotlight, he would never have pressed his wife into a state of discomfort. Her head pounded with indignation, and the plump of her rosy lips twisted with a condemning scowl.

"Alex!" the blonde yelled from the grip of her sofa.

A heavy muscled man with a lock of blond curls from above his brows sauntered into the room. "Yes, sis?"

"Go get ready," the congresswoman commanded.

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to the reception."

"But you declined their invitation!" her brother exclaimed, palms cupping his own cheeks in surprise.

"Grumman's going to pay for what he's done."

* * *

**Meanwhile...**

Suspense hung in the air around him and began to undulate through the large dressing room at the Rolling Hills Estate. In his hand - _and hers_ \- was their phones, black and white pieces roaming about, stumbling over one another and slaying their way across the board. There were only a few moves left until they reached the end of their game, and Roy Mustang thought long and hard before deciding how to proceed.

It had been too long since their last match.

"H2 to H3. Checkmate," Roy finally said, tilting his chin up to face his wife, scouring her reaction. Riza had not said a word about her defeat back then. And Roy had presumed all was well.

"What did you say?" she asked calmly.

"Checkmate," Roy repeated, cautiously, his mind meandering from the deep trench between her brows to the peculiar twinkle in her eyes.

But before he could decipher her intentions, Riza said, "And? What does that mean?"

"It means you lose, _Birdy1989,_" her husband declared. And Roy did not know what possessed him then, but he smirked and went on to say, "_Again_."

Hazel eyes narrowed slightly beneath golden fringe, and Riza Mustang captured her lips in between her teeth, breathing out a growl. Her harsh vision never left his, and under the scrutiny, his heartbeat began to drum. Louder, and faster, and _stronger_…

"I like smart men," she arbitrarily announced, "especially ones who can beat me at chess."

"Oh." Huh?

And then his wife suddenly pounced, springing out of her chair, and pulled him by the lapels before he could say any more, starving mouth chasing his and setting off fireworks in his belly. Riza dragged his lips into hers, and she nipped and bit and snarled against it, groaning. _Whining._

This was not what he expected.

And when her hands began to traverse down to the firm set of his shoulders and then the broad of his chest, Roy gasped for breath and clumsily unbuttoned his dress uniform, dropping his coat to the ground. In turn, Riza swiftly brought his hands to wrap around her back and rested them at the top of her zipper. Under her demanding watch his fingers fumbled, the fastener slipping against moist skin, and Roy shot a few colorful words in desperation.

"Hurry up, Roy!" his wife begged, teasing a delicate finger along the length of his torso.

"I'm- I'm trying!" he fussed. But his palms were too damn sweaty.

"Before the reception starts!"

"I think it's stuck!" he cried in frustration.

"This is all your fault," Riza moaned, moving to stroke the hilt of the decorative sword attached to his belt. "You got me all riled up."

"It's not my fault I'm so good at chess!" Roy countered. And the zip on her dress finally cooperated and slid down her spine.

The alluring view of her smooth, pale skin snatched the air out of his lungs and coiled a smothering sensation elsewhere down below. In her undergarments, Riza Hawkeye was Aphrodite, rising out of the oceans to take away his heart and never giving it back. The temperature rose several degrees all around, and his beautiful wife dawdled circles on the bare plane above her breasts, spinning a mischievous smile that promised many things to come.

But a loud rap at the door bolted Roy upright, and a friendly sing-song from his best friend followed. Roy tossed his arms up in exasperation and twirled around, hurling a long string of curses and commands at the man behind the door to leave them alone.

Maes Hughes left. But when Roy circled to his wife, Riza was already fully dressed, her naked shoulders covered and the set of enticing lips thinned into a line.

He was confused. "Riza?"

"Put on your coat. We have a reception to attend," she replied, her tone sharper than the sword sheathed at his side.

"B-but you said you like it when I beat you at chess! And I can't go out with- with _this_!" He pointed down to the parts between his legs.

Riza smirked then, prompting the pockets of his eyes to widen in realization. In that moment, he knew exactly what she had done, and the round of his shoulders curled in surrender. He sighed.

"Payback's a bitch, Mr. President," his wife laughed, wickedly, and sashayed to the door. Then she briefly turned to him and sneered, "You shouldn't have ruined my winning streak."

**Fin.**

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading and following this mini fic! I hope you had fun, because I certainly did. If you're looking for something to read, I'm currently working on **Now We Fall** and **Bound By**, co-written by flourchildwrites. All comments, kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated! 3


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